House of V

by Raen Smith

  No, no, no.

  I sawed faster until the tension on the rope released, and Sister Josephine fell into my arms.

  “She deserved it,” he said behind me. “She made a fool out of me. Those kids tortured me and called me names. If Holston hadn’t come to her rescue that day, I would have made her pay for what she did to me then.”

  I stayed crouched, holding Sister Josephine as I desperately tried to close the wound. I held it with my hand, feeling the warmth of her blood flow against my skin. It wasn’t going to end like this. Sister Josephine didn’t deserve this. It couldn’t end like this.

  I turned back to the beam of light to see Derek standing behind it. He held the gun in his other hand.

  “Tell me, Evie,” he started. “How did it end for Ethan? Was he in pain? Were you there when he took his last breath?”

  I was silent, yet the wrath coursed through my body. Ethan had died saving me, and I wouldn’t let his death be in vain. I wouldn’t leave this world with Sister Josephine’s blood on my hands.

  “I won’t let you off that easy, Evie Parker. You’ll pay for the debt of your father with an excruciating death. You’ll beg me for mercy,” he said as he lowered the gun toward my feet.

  I exhaled, the number one beginning to form in my head, but I didn’t finish my mantra. I sprung forward at him with my knife, thrashing to make contact when I heard the gunshot ring in my ears. I rolled to the ground, expecting to feel the pain tear through my body any moment, but instead, I felt nothing except a hard impact to my shoulder from the ground. The light swung in the air until it crashed to the ground, clattered against the concrete, and spun in the opposite direction.

  It was followed by the thud of his body.

  “Go, go, go,” a man’s voice echoed against the walls. Footsteps padded throughout the warehouse, led by half a dozen small beams of light.

  I was still crouched over when I felt the hand on my back.

  “Evie, are you okay?”

  I turned to look into the wrinkled eyes of Sanchez in the glow of his flashlight. I nodded my head, but pointed behind me and managed to whisper her name, “Sister Josephine.”

  “We know. We’re on it,” he said as he waved his hand and motioned toward Sister Josephine. Three officers were already there, wrapping her arm, and dispatching the call for an ambulance.

  “She might not - ” I started, unable to finish my sentence.

  “She’ll make it,” he said as he put his arm around me and pulled me into his chest.

  I let him hold me and put my head against his arm, allowing the odd sensation of welcomed protection overcome my body.

  “She’ll be wherever she is supposed to be."

  18

  June 22, 12:00 p.m.

  Appleton, Wisconsin

  The rain trickled against the canopy overhead as the bagpipes blew their melancholy tones. I hung my head down and folded my hands in prayer as they lowered the casket into the ground. Closing my eyes, I inhaled deep to feel Sister Josephine’s rosary rise against my chest. A hand pulled against my own, and I looked over to see my sister’s sympathetic smile. I returned a small nod that told her that I was going to be okay. That everything was going to be okay.

  I felt another pull on my other hand except, this time, it was lower. The small bony fingers of Sister Josephine wrapped around my own from her wheelchair. I gave her the same nod as the trickles of the rain from the canopy began to slow. The low hum of the bagpipes stopped as the casket of Father Haskens came to rest deep below the surface.

  “Thank you for coming.” The presiding priest nodded as he held his hand up high. “May you go in peace to serve the Lord.”

  The crowd of parishioners outside of the canopy shuffled away, allowing the rest of the congregation huddled underneath to disperse. I looked over to see Ann and Michael Jones still standing on the other side of the burial site. Michael had his around Ann’s waist, and they both stared at me with a sort of longing I couldn’t describe. Fearful, I guessed, that they would lose me yet again.

  My eyes moved over to Mark and Ben, who faced each other, talking quietly in their suits with Sanchez, who was wearing his police uniform and aviators, despite the fact it was raining. They were here for me, just like family and friends should be.

  “I’ll see you inside, okay?” Delaney asked as she gave my hand a squeeze. She let go of mine and replaced it with James’s hand. “Everyone plans on being there.”

  “Sure,” I replied with another nod. “Even though it’s not my usual thing.”

  “Get used to it. This is a family thing,” Delaney said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes. Nothing has changed in the last twenty-four hours since you have been asking.”

  “I don’t need to watch you, do I? As your attorney?” James chimed in.

  I flashed him the same crooked smile I had given him back in the interrogation room two days ago in Milwaukee.

  “James,” Delaney scolded as she hit him lightly on his arm. “We’ll see you inside.”

  The rest of the Jones family met Delaney and James then headed toward the Church for the small social gathering afterward. Sanchez stood back and gave me a short salute which I returned before he disappeared onto a path that led out of the cemetery.

  The roar of his motorcycle ripped through the air shortly after. I finally turned my focus on the hand still wrapped around my own. Sister Josephine’s arm was wrapped in heavy gauze beneath her white, long-sleeved dress.

  “I want you to keep that rosary,” Sister Josephine said, pointing to the beads around my neck. “It wasn’t just a loan. It’s yours to keep.”

  “Thank you,” I said as I pulled it over my head. “But I can’t. You have worn it for over twenty-five years and it belongs to you.” I placed it over her head and let it fall to her chest. “I don’t want anyone else taking that from you, ever. They’ll have to get through me, first.”

  She smiled and squeezed my hand. “Thank you, my guardian angel.”

  “I think I’ve heard that enough to last a lifetime from you,” I said.

  “I’ll never stop saying it,” she replied. “I’ve missed you, Evie.”

  “I’ve missed you, too, Sister Josephine.”

  “Do you think this is the end of it all?” she asked as I walked to the back of the wheelchair and began pushing her out of the canopy.

  “I hope so. I honestly don’t know how much more I can take,” I said as I stopped and pulled an umbrella from the handle of the wheelchair. I was about to pop it open when her hand rested on it.

  “We don’t need it. It’s stopped raining,” she said as she pointed to the break in the clouds. A small hint of sun was poking through. “Father Haskens is looking down on us, you know.”

  I put the umbrella back and grabbed the handles to roll the wheelchair toward the Church.

  “Why did you wear white today, Sister Josephine?”

  “Father Haskens wouldn’t have wanted to be mourned. You know that,” she replied with a twinkle in her eye. “Because today is a day for celebrating life. Today marks a day of new beginnings.”

  EPILOGUE

  January, Six Months Later

  The Cottage Near Lake Michigan

  I wrapped the blanket tighter around my body as I watched the crackle of the fire burn a vibrant dance while the wind thrashed against the windows overlooking Lake Michigan.

  I never thought I would be able to stand being here.

  My eyes gazed up at the rows of books lining the bookshelves. Delaney had replaced them all within the first week that I had gotten here, and I had already burned through the first three rows. I only had one row left and six more months of waiting until I was off probation.

  I closed my eyes and thought of Elizabeth’s sweet bouncy curls and Ethan’s strong but patient face. Their memories lingered here, and while most of me wanted to move on from them, I felt a comfort in their presence.

  The ding of the microwave buzzed me up from the c
ouch. I walked past the stretched bay windows that reflected the snow-covered ground. It was beautiful here, it really was, but I hadn’t decided if I would stay. Delaney had gifted the cottage to me despite my declines just days after finding Sister Josephine. As she had placed the keys in my hand, she had told me that I should sell it if I didn’t want to stay. I had finally conceded and taken the cottage; I had six more months to figure out if I wanted to stay.

  I pulled the hot chocolate from the microwave and set the scolding liquid on the counter. As I waited for it to cool, I pulled my laptop open and logged into an email account Delaney had insisted that I create and actually check. After all, I was four hours away from her, and she couldn’t help sending pictures of their baby, my nephew, every couple days.

  Delaney and James had named their first son Seth. And I had to admit, he was a beautiful baby. Most people say that about all babies, but there was something about Seth that made him the perfect bundle. James had claimed he had taken over his own dashing good looks, and while I couldn’t exactly disagree, I tended to lean toward the wavy brown hair and the promise of translucent blue eyes. Not that I was partial to that or anything.

  I hadn’t logged on in a few days, and I knew Delaney would be calling soon if I didn’t reply. I opened the first email to see a smiling Seth in a baby bathtub with a suds-created Mohawk. I smiled back and skipped to the next picture of Delaney and Seth sleeping in a chair. My sister. My nephew.

  I was finally getting used to the fact that they were my family. Of course the monthly Sunday night dinners at Mark’s house were helping. We’d had five dinners so far, and each night had been filled with more laughter than I had been able to gather in my whole lifetime. Don’t get me wrong, it had been hard to crack that first smile, but I eventually did. I probably didn’t laugh as much as the rest of them, however, they were growing on me. Mark had a new girlfriend - I was gratuitously thankful for that news at the last dinner because we were a family now - and new job. Parker Enterprises was sold off and was now being run under new management and a new name. Ben and Meghan were working on baby number two.

  I visited Sister Josephine on the afternoons that I went to Appleton. We had fallen into a good routine, and I was happy to have her back in my life. She told me about the Holston she had known as a young girl. He’d been mentally anguished even as a child, she had said, but he had found a way to deal with his desires. She hadn’t known the magnitude of who he had become and had apologized over and over that she hadn’t done things differently. I told her that everything turned out exactly as it was supposed to. Most days I believed that line of crap.

  And my mother, well, she never seemed to stop smiling at me when I saw her. She also had whispered to me that she needed to see more of me, yet she knew I had a limit and suddenly being a part of this family, any family, was difficult for me. My father cried at least once every dinner, it never failed. I guess it could be worse.

  The FBI turned over the love letters that Holston had written Ann. In true Ann fashion, she had them shredded at the headquarters before they could even send them to her. She made Agent Allen record the shredding so she could verify that they were gone.

  Kevin Carpenter was in prison and serving a life sentence for the death of Fred Sullivan. Holston’s house in Appleton was in foreclosure. The Vigilante League had been dismantled and the site taken down. Sanchez had pulled one last string for me before I moved in here that caused a little stir with the county judge, but I was grateful that he stuck his neck out, again, for me. A loaded 9mm was underneath the pillow of my bed. In case, he had said. I hadn’t needed it yet and didn’t plan on it.

  I pulled my attention back to my email, closing out the pictures Delaney had sent, before hovering over the next email.

  The name soared through my heart.

  Luke Montana.

  My hand shook as I clicked on the email entitled Red Shoes.

  Ivy,

  I’m writing to let you know about an editorial that was published a few weeks ago before I left Norway. I really think it’s something you should know about. I’ll give you the English translation since I’m sure your Norwegian is rusty. The title of the article is ‘To the Girl in Boots.’

  ‘I’ve looked for you for the last six months with no luck. I want to thank you for your courage in fighting off my attacker in June in the alleyway of Basementlofoten. It is because of you that I am alive and unharmed. Your actions gave me the courage to go to the authorities, and as a consequence, the individual has been captured and is imprisoned. More importantly, he will not have the chance to hurt anyone else. If I never learn your name or where you are from or what made you who you are, know that I will never forget you. I will never forget the woman who saved my life and countless others. You are my protector. And I am eternally grateful. - The Girl in the Red Shoes.’

  Bernard did confront me right away, if you were wondering, and I told him he better watch his back in case you ever came back. I never heard a yell after that, and Rolf seemed happier.

  I sold my house and boat, and I’m in London working on my English accent. Anonymity is a beautiful thing. I know you have six more months yet on your parole, and I don’t know where you are, but know that you’ll always have a piece of me. I’ll be here, along with your knife. Waiting.

  Luke from Montana.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  House of V is Raen Smith’s third novel in the Unraveled Series. When she isn’t writing novels, she spends her time wrangling two small sons and teaching at a technical college. She lives in Sherwood, Wisconsin with her husband and boys.

  If you want to get an automatic email when Raen’s next book is released, sign up here. Your email address will never be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time. Word-of-mouth is crucial for any author to succeed. If you enjoyed the book, please consider leaving a review on Amazon, even if it is a line or two; it would make all the difference and would be very much appreciated.

  Visit raensmith.com or follow Raen on Twitter.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  A special thank you to my husband, Brandon, for pushing me time and time again. Yes, I will keep writing.

  To Reba, thank you for being a huge support in my writing adventures. Your sound advice and willingness to help brings me to tears.

  To Stephanie, thank you for listening to me go on and on and on about my story ideas and struggles. Your encouragement and empathy has pushed me forward.

  And to all the indie writers out there who have both inspired and encouraged me, THANK YOU! You have been true trailblazers on this crazy rollercoaster.

  Thank you to my editors, Alizon and Kris of C&D Editing. Any mistakes are my own.

  Last, thank you to my friends, family, and readers who have encouraged me to continue to dream. The journey continues!

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  EPILOGUE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS